It is surprising sometimes how the deep past revisits you. Two recent events have caused me to delve back into my childhood.

Beatlemania from both sides: the Beatle and the Beatlemaniac.

The first of these two is an exhibition of Paul McCartney's photographs from the early days of Beatlemania; it is on at the newly-reopened National Portrait Gallery in London until October 1. I visited the exhibition shortly after it opened, and enjoyed it enough to buy the book afterwards. The exhibition covers the period 1963-1964 and opens when the Beatles were touring in the UK and France. It was in Paris that they heard I want to hold your hand had reached number 1 in the US: this leads to the later images from their first visit to the US. If you get a chance to see the exhibition, it is well worth going if you've any interest in the early-60s, cultural history etc., even if you are not a Beatles fan. The exhibition has been widely reviewed (I enjoyed the commentary in the New Yorker).

The quality of the prints (many hand-made) is lovely and does full justice to the work. One of the widespread criticisms of the exhibition is how many of the images are out of focus. That’s fair enough. But he was an amateur photographer, feeling his way with a new SLR, without any modern benefits of autofocus or high ISO. We benefit now, too, from the ability to quickly learn about what we are doing from the image coming up instantly on the back screen. Surrounded by the madness of the time, McCartney had no time for careful study of his images to learn from them. In any case, sharpness, as we all know, is a bourgeois concept ☺.

The important thing is that the pictures convey so much of the atmosphere around Beatlemania. There are some lovely portraits of not just John, Ringo and George, but of George’s parents and Paul’s then-girlfriend Jane Asher, among others. We see astonishing crowds of adoring fans as viewed from inside the Beatles' coterie; the expressions on the faces of non-plussed people not caught up in the enthusiasm; the press crowding in; the Beatles contemporaries such as Cilla Black and Ronnie Spector; firearms carried by US police (unknown then to Brits used to our unarmed coppers).

Most interesting to me were the contact sheets of negatives made at the time. They show how McCartney worked, exploring his subjects, and learning from the photographers, such as Robert Freeman, around him. Writing and playing music were more than full-time jobs, but they still did not absorb all his creativity; it spilled over into his hobby photography too. Even in the absence of careful reviews of his own pictures, he clearly learned fast.

It is fascinating, as well, to see the transition from New York City to Florida in 1964. McCartney used gritty, grainy black-and-white film when he first arrived in the US, just as he had earlier in the UK. As a result of the techniques and materials available, the images remind me strongly of the look of Robert Frank’s images in The Americans, especially those taken from a train as the Beatles headed south. When they arrived in Florida, all of a sudden, along with beautiful sunshine, came colour in the images. The colours are gorgeous, and could be from Ernst Haas, or even the contemporaneous Bond movies. We leave behind the black and white of post-war austerity; by the end of the exhibition, the 60s are just starting to swing in brilliant colour.

Seeing the exhibition prompted me to dig out my own two very first pop singles. Like most of my contemporaries, I was an extremely — extremely!  — young Beatlemaniac. I’ve no idea how, but I managed to persuade my mum to buy me She loves you. She subsequently bought I want to hold your hand. They were played to death at the time at home, and are still treasured possessions.

BTW: I’ve had a little time now to go through the book. It is most enjoyable being able to absorb the images without the crowds at the exhibition. I find that the size of the reproductions in the book is more sympathetic to the images than large exhibits on a gallery wall. 35mm negs don’t necessarily stand big enlargements: I think this is part of the complaint about out-of-focus pictures. Full-page single images are about 6”x9” (roughly 15cm x 23cm) which is a nice size for a 35mm print, and with plenty of white space around them. Some years ago, I went to the Robert Capa exhibition at the Barbican: many of the images there were printed at about 6”x8” and were an intensely moving experience.  There is something intimate and intentional about smaller prints that suit the nature of the original medium. To put it another way, if you can’t get to the exhibition, the book is worth it in its own right.

25 or 6 to 4

The second event that links to a single from my younger days was a gig in honour of the guitarist James Burton held at the London Palladium. A wonderful evening with a large number of outstanding musicians playing. There is a full-length video (taken, I think from the audience) on YouTube.

James Burton is best known as Elvis Presley’s lead guitarist and member of his TCB band, from 1969 until Elvis’s death. Even before that, he’d done influential work, playing on the Dale Hawkins recording of Susie Q, Ricky Nelson’s Mary Lou and as a member of the Wrecking Crew. Brian May told the audience that when he heard Burton’s solo on Mary Lou he knew that was what he wanted to do with his life.

I never had enough pocket money to buy singles generally: such a collection as I have from when I was young is extremely small. But I have one single from 1970: Chicago’s 25 or 6 to 4. It has a huge riff and fabulous horns, and was one of the songs at that time of my life that caught my imagination; it was as nearly as formative on me as Led Zeppelin’s Whole Lotta Love (and I only heard that because other people’s older brothers had the album).

The connection of 25 or 6 to 4 to James Burton is via Elvis’s band. Burton’s bassist colleague in the TCB band was Jerry Scheff. His son, Jason Scheff, was Chicago's longest-standing frontman (and bassist). Jason Scheff played at the Burton gig: James Burton remains a great friend of the Scheff family.

Jason Scheff played 25 or 6 to 4: vocals and bass to Brian May’s lead guitar. There are videos of it on YouTube. Their performance of that song was, for me, a truly intense rock ’n roll experience. The videos don’t catch the intensity I felt in the hall: my feeling at the time was that I’d not experienced anything so intense since the first time I saw Prince. Just amazing. In any case, they got a huge ovation from the whole audience.

The next day, I had to excavate my copy of 25 or 6 to 4 from 1970. I was so happy to find it after all these years. Quite something.

I’d love to listen to these original singles again, never mind that they are on all the streaming services. But (there had to be a but!) our turntable does not play 45s at the moment: something else to fix….